A Man of Rohan
by doodle8200
Summary: Grima Wormtongue. He has just arrived at Edoras, at the court of Theoden King. But people are already looking down on him. They scorn him. Eventually, he is banished from Rohan by Theoden and that Ranger, Aragorn. If only they knew. If only they understood just what he had gone through, the tragedy of his life. Maybe they would pity him...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This was just a little idea that I had a while back, and I finally decided to put my thoughts to paper (or Microsoft Word...?). Anyway, I hope you like it! Read on!**

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Prologue

_The Third Age: 2953_

Saruman's POV

_The world is changing. Soon my time will come, and when it does, I will not hesitate. No one else knows; they all think that it is lost... The fools._

The ground sped by beneath the feet of my horse. I was journeying back from the Council. I snorted as I recalled the words of Gandalf. He had urged me to look for the Ring, the One Ring of Power, created by Sauron himself in the Cracks of Doom. He had no idea.

I was already looking for the Ring. The others thought it lost, thought it impossible to find. …Except Gandalf. Gandalf the _Grey_. He believed that the Dark Lord could find it and regain his power.

_But others may find it also,_ I thought as I rode, _and what is to say that I could not be the one who claims it for my own? _They were fools, all of them! I had told them, reassured them that the Ring could not be found, that all sources clearly stated that it had been lost in the Great River Anduin when Isildur perished. But it was not so.

The Ring had not been destroyed; it was out there in the world, somewhere, waiting to be found. Plans formed in my head, visions of Saruman, Lord of Middle Earth, people coming from all over to pay tribute to me. They would fear me. They would bow before me. I would be the Master of all.

_If only I had more information. I have already searched the Gladden Fields, and it was not to be found. Perhaps if I looked again…_ Once more the words of Gandalf rang through my head.

_"The Ring may very well pass into the hands of another, one who does not know its full power! And then Sauron would know; he would wage war, crushing everything in his path until he found the Ring and reclaimed it as his own. I assure you all, when that happens, there will be no hope."_

_"The Ring may very well pass into the hands of another..." _I thought. Something suddenly occurred to me: what if it already had? What if that was why it was not present at the old battlefields?

_If some new being already possesses it, then it is only a matter of time until it comes forth, drawn by the power of Sauron. It would be wise to prepare, for Sauron will surely stop at naught until he has his Ring once more. Perhaps if I were to use his power to my advantage…_

Where would he begin? Gondor had always stood in his way, ever on his doorstep, the Black Mountains of Mordor on the edge of the great realm of Men. But what of Rohan? The horse-people had sometimes aided Gondor in war against the Black Land. Sauron would surely strike Gondor first, moving through Osgiliath, which sat on the Great River.

_Rohan shall be mine. That land of "Horse Lords" has never been great, their people little more than peasants, but with it, I can perhaps become more powerful than I am now. It would be but a foothold, and soon I would move on to greater things._

Yes… Rohan must fall.

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**Sooo whaddya think? Please review and let me know! I'll try and get the next chapter up in a few days or so!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! Sorry about the wait: I meant to post this earlier, but I didn't have very much time to write this week, and I worked on my other fic. Thank you so much to LOTR-GOT-SherlockLuvr and Saphira, my first reviewers for this fic, for reviewing! And thank you to everyone who decided to check this out!**

**Just to clear things up, the Council that Saruman was returning from in the Prologue was the Council that Gandalf talks about in the Council of Elrond in the books, not the one in The Hobbit movie in Rivendell.**

**Read on!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

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Chapter 1

_The Third Age: 2986_

Grima's POV

Smoke drifted through the air, borne on the wind toward my hiding place among the scattered boulders that lay to the west of my village. From where I crouched, trembling, I could see the shapes of the Wild Men running, dark against the fire that burned through my home. I could hear the screams of women and children as they lay dying.

I leaned back against the rock, wrapping my arms around my legs to make myself as small as possible. Tears slid down my cheeks as I sat, waiting for it to end, thinking of my mother. She was in the village, but alive or dead, I had not the slightest idea.

After what seemed like hours, the sounds faded. The smoke still stung in my nose, and the air was hazy, but the fires had mostly died down, having burned quickly through the houses and the marketplace and the Grand Hall of our town. I dared to look over my rock, hardly breathing as I looked around. Nothing moved. The Wild Men had left.

I shakily stood and looked all around me. The flat green expanse of Rohan lay all around me, dotted with gray and brown boulders. The sun was high in the air; it was noon, time for lunch. I turned back to the village. Mother would give me lunch. If I was home, and if she was still alive, she would sit me down at our smooth wooden table in our small, cozy house, and she would place a bowl of steaming stew before me.

Maybe…just maybe…she was still alive. I had to hope. I had to find her. I stooped to pick up my pack before walking slowly back to the village. I had been out, exploring, running around the vast plains, pretending to be on a great adventure, a soldier in the King's army. Mother had given me bread and meat, saying that a good soldier never left unprepared. She had kissed me before watching me go, waving from where she stood in the doorway.

I paused, staring ahead at the village, not sure if I wanted to go on. After a moment of hesitation, I kept walking. Mother would be okay. She would be there, waiting for me in the doorway, waiting for her brave soldier to come home, returning victorious from a great battle. She would listen as I told her of all that I had done, always smiling.

By that point, I had reached what remained of the town. The smell of the smoke had grown stronger, mixed with something more unpleasant. It stung my eyes, and ash floated around, sticking to me, turning my skin a light gray color.

Keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead of me, I ignored the twisted bodies and the burnt limbs. I forced myself to keep walking, forced my shaking legs to keep moving. Mother would be alright. She would be there, standing in the doorway, smiling as I walked home.

But when I came to our house, our cozy little cottage, Mother wasn't in the doorway. The doorway was a pile of ash and soot, blackened by the fire, only one post standing. I held my breath as I walked forward, reaching out to touch the blackened wood. As my fingers brushed against it, it fell, sending up a puff of ash, and I leapt back, my heart pounding in my chest.

Nothing was left of my home. The smooth, dark wooden table that I had always eaten at was no more. My cot, next to Mother's bed in the main room, was gone. The cheerful fireplace that had always blazed in the cold winter nights was destroyed.

I stood in the middle of the place that I had called home, oblivious to the tears that slid down my cheeks, mixing with the ash, oblivious to the cold wind that whipped my hair around my face and spread the ashes of my village, oblivious to everything but the remains of my cottage, spread around me.

There was no sign of Mother. She wasn't sitting in her chair, knitting a warm scarf. She wasn't standing over the fire, cooking our meals. She was gone.

A choked sob escaped from my lips, and the sound brought me back to reality, or at least what passed for reality. It was a new world, a different world, a cruel world. A world where Men killed each other and burned peaceful villages. It was a world in which young boys lost their mothers when they went to play in the rolling meadows for a day. It was a world that I didn't want to live in anymore.

All I could think of was that I needed to get away. I turned, my pack still on my shoulders, and ran. I ran through the village, not looking around me, my sight blurred by the tears that filled my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I ran out across the meadows and through the boulders, where, hours ago, I had been happy, not knowing that soon the world would come crashing down around me.

I don't know how long I ran, but eventually I collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably. I crawled over to a small hollow in a large boulder and curled up, giving myself up to oblivion and sorrow.


End file.
